The Case of the Haunted Room
by Takada Saiko
Summary: A young Holmes with his first entrance into mystery solving, though it be small. My first attempt at mystery, so please be kind and PLEASE review with any comments as to how I might improve. Don't feel you need to be so kind that you don't tell me (that's
1. Default Chapter

A/N: I've been asked to continue, and so I shall. ::promptly hides from all of the PotC fans that want her to finish her story:: Anyway, I'm currently trying to track down the "biography" of Sherlock Holmes that Mr. Baring-Gould (which is also the name of Holmes' friend in "The Moor" by Laurie R King… accident? Never) to see his views on Holmes' childhood and such, but at the current moment I've been unable to track it down here at my local bookstore. At the moment, these are some clips of ideas roaming around in the empty space that most people call my mind (they ricochet off the inside of my skull) and we'll see if my theories change once I read this book. If anyone can point me in a general direction of it, I'd be much obliged. As of now, here are some theories to it. Enjoy. 

A/N2: I'm going by the Russellian (is that how it's referred to?) timeline as Holmes is fifty-something in 1915, though it's been several years since I've read The Beekeeper's Apprentice and don't remember if they give an actual age there and have never seen (doesn't mean it's not there, I just haven't noticed it) any actual age put on Holmes (except in Baring-Gould's storyline). So for the sake of this story (unless anyone can correct me and preferably give me the story I can look it up, being either of the Cannon or the Mary Russell books) I'm going to say that Holmes was born in 1859. Lovely? Lovely. Because I just spent as much time working the numbers out to match what I would guess would just about fit the dates I know as I will spend writing this story. IE: too much time on the number. Anyway, onto the story!

The Case of the Haunted Room

I

I've always had a bit of a flare for the dramatics, but never a sense to write them down. It is Mycroft, my elder brother, who has suggested that I put my thoughts down on paper. So here they are.

It was the year 1872 when my father decided to settle down from his wanderings about Europe and found his home in London, England. Of course, Mother and I followed, as we always had. He said that in his aging days (forty-five is aging?) he wished to be nearer to his middle son, my brother Mycroft, who was currently in Oxford, but often traveled to London. Truly, I believed the city had its claws into him since he was young and his father would only take him there once a year.

I did not protest this final move. In fact, I accepted it without pout. London had far more than the country side when it came to my interest. Heavens, Scotland Yard was there. Surely God could not have been smiling down on me more than the day of my father's decision to move to London. Though don't believe for a moment he did it on my account.

As soon as we came to London I was promptly shuffled to a new school. As I had little idea of where I was going, Mycroft accompanied me. I said my farewells to him at the gates.

"Good luck to you, Sherlock."

"I should need it?"

"At this school, yes."

I laughed lightly at him. Mycroft simply smiled and hurried me through the gates. I stared upward toward the top of the school building, taking it all in. The building was larger than any school house I had been near to and seemed somewhat gloomy to me, though it never bothered me once I was in. I was shown to my bed where I lay my trunk at the end and placed my violin case on the pillow. I scanned each person that I passed, making notes in my mind to double check the quickly gathered data that I claimed from a brief glance at each individual.

"You're the new boy?" a voice asked from my left and I turned to see a round lad close in age to myself.

"Yes."

He grinned a goofy grin as he extended his pudgy hand to shake mine. "Sam Wallace," he introduced himself cheerfully.

I reached forward and grasped his hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

"So," said he, "you just moved to London, I hear."

"News travels quickly."

"It does indeed. Rumour has it that you're the younger brother of Mycroft Holmes."

"I am indeed."

"So perhaps you can solve the mystery here at our school?"

My ears perked at this. Mycroft, in all of his rambling about his former school, had never mentioned a mystery lurking about it. Ah well… "Mystery?"

"Aye," Wallace answered. "Been strange noises coming from this one room. There's always been an old legend about it being haunted, you see…"

"Yes, yes, Mycroft mentioned that."

"Well the legend has been brought to life as of late. Not many enter the room. Someone died in there, or so the elder students say. Sounds have been coming from it, lately. Frightening sounds."

I raised an eyebrow at this. "And you believe a ghost is haunting it?"

"I do."

I suppressed a chuckle. For an educated boy, he was easily duped. "And what would you have me do, Mr. Wallace?"

"Well take a look at it, of course! If you've half the brain your elder brother had, you'll figure this all out in no time."

I must admit I warmed a bit more to the boy after this comment. After all is said and done, I am, like any other living and breathing human being, susceptible to flattery. "Well shall we take a look at this room, my dear Wallace?"

"Now?" he asked, his round face colouring a bit with what appeared to be fear.

"Indeed now."

He nodded hastily and scurried off, allowing a pace that I could follow at without getting lost in the many turns that the maze-like school had. We turned right and then left, right and left and then left and strait for a bit. I followed and stopped when he did. He introduced me to this person and that, the names I paid little attention to at the present time, merely storing them in the back of my mind for the time being as they were not important at that exact moment.

By the time we reached the door to the infamous room, we had a small crowd gathered around us. Apparently Mycroft was well known in this school for his own deductive reasoning skills, though I'm sure he was, even then, less active than I am at the young age of thirteen.

"This is it," Wallace said, not touching the door but motioning to it.

I stepped up to it without hesitation and pushed it to open it. "Does it always stay locked?"

"Yes."

"Then we shall need it opened if anything is to be discovered."

"Certainly if you are what they say your brother was then you can guess what it is from out here," an obnoxious sounding voice said from a ways into the crowd.

"First off, I don't guess. One never guesses. Well, that is if he wants the end results to be right. Making 'guesses' without data will only produce results that are coloured by biased opinions."

"The professors won't let us open it," Wallace explained to me quietly. "They say it will only feed our foolish talk."

"Surely they know that to keep it secret will only do so more," I answered, frustrated with their lack of logic in the situation.

Wallace shrugged. "We don't always have to understand their reasoning, just accept it. It is how it is."

I frowned at this and glanced back at them. It wouldn't do to have such a group if I were to pick the lock to get into the room. I turned to Wallace, looking at him intensely before whispering into his ear, "Should I have reason to trust you?"

"Why, I should think so," he answered in hushed tones back.

I turned to everyone. "There's nothing to be seen here. I cannot get in, and that is that, as Mr. Wallace said a moment ago."

The group of young boys groaned loudly, trudging off with an air of irritation around them. "We'll come here tonight after the lights go out."

"What?" Wallace asked in surprise. "But you just said-"

"They needed to be gotten rid of."

"But the teachers surely won't allow-"

"Would you like to know or wouldn't you?" I asked irritably.

"I would," he answered, sulking a bit.

"Then meet me here after the lights go out."

Wallace and I parted ways at that moment and the bells for dinner rang clearly a few minutes later. I had only been at the school a few hours and I had been thrown into something that had started to spark my interest, if only a bit. Surely no ghost lay behind the door, but a childish curiosity caught my mind and drove with such intensity that I found myself longing to find what was behind that tightly shut door. I would meet my new friend there later on that night, but first came dinner. No need to show the professors that we were up to mischief. If they knew me to be Mycroft's brother, they would expect something of me, but certainly not to be done directly by me. Mycroft always had a way of manipulating others to do his work for him. I, though, enjoy the thrill of the game first hand.

Dinner ended with little event and I found little time for my violin before the lights were ordered snuffed out. That evening I rummaged through my trunk for my makeshift picklocks that I had hidden from my father during the move and placed them carefully in my pocket. Tonight would hold much interest, that was certain.

A/N: Okay, this is a short thing that probably won't be more than a chapter or two more long. I've written very little mystery in my twelve years of writing, so please stay with me as I venture through this and hope that I don't ruin the wonderful Sherlock Holmes in the process. I'm really much more comfortable writing snippets about Holmes and Russell, but I like a firm idea of a character's past before writing too much of the present setting for them, so I suppose that's what this is. If anyone has any critique, be it possitive, negative, or simply insightful, please let me know!

TS


	2. II

II

"We're going to be caught, Holmes," Wallace said in a hushed voice. "We're going to be caught and get in trouble."

"You worry too much," I answered him, feeling quite sure of myself as I made my way down the hall, stepping lightly. The door loomed at the end of the passageway which was devoid of life. "No one is here to get us in any trouble."

"Your first day here and look what you do… My goodness, you'll be out of this school in no time."

"Perhaps that's why he moved here."

Wallace and I whirled around. I recognized the voice to be the obnoxious voice I had heard earlier. He was older than I was, perhaps fifteen. He, like ourselves, was still fully dressed, but held a small candle in his right hand. It illuminated his sharp features and glowed off his bright blue eyes and near-white hair.

"Whatever does that mean?" Wallace asked.

"I means that he moved here in the middle of the term for some reason," he answered with a cutting tone to his voice. "Sherlock Holmes, wasn't it?"

"It is. And you must be Josiah Adams."

My statement gained a glare from the elder boy and he brought his candle closer. "My brother had classes with yours, is that how you know my name?"

"I know it because news travels quickly," I answered with a smile. "Mycroft spoke little of the people he knew."

"Ah?"

"Now, if you please, we have something we're to be about at this moment."

"Holmes," Wallace called to me pleadingly. "Adams is… He'll tell the professor, Holmes."

I turned a cold smile onto the blond with the light that stood by us. "Surely not."

"Surely you won't break into that room," he responded. "It's bad luck."

I snorted. "And you believe in that… that utter foolishness?"

He glared and grabbed me by the shirt collar, tugging me close to him and growling into my ear, "You have a lot of nerve. Keep your nose out of other's business, Holmes, before that nose gets sliced off unexpectedly. Fair warning, I'd say."

"You have something to hide?"

"No, why should I?"

"I only asked."

"I have nothing to hide. Nothing at all."

My smile that had been creeping to my face only widened at this. "He doth protest too much," I mumbled. "Move along now, Mr. Adams, as you too are past your curfew."

"It doesn't matter," Wallace mumbled to me. "Adams won't be punished, but we will. I'm going back to bed, Holmes. I'd suggest you do the same."

I watched him scurry back down the way we had come from and looked at Adams. "You haven't won."

He grinned at me. "Don't sound so melodramatic, young Mr. Holmes. This isn't a case of Scotland Yard. It's a child's legend."

As I walked back after Wallace, I shook my head. No, it was more than that, I was sure. Why was Adams so protective of it. What was it with this one room, and why would someone want the students to stay away from it? I'd find more answer the next day, I was sure of it.

-----

"Door's been closed for years, it 'as."

"But why?" I had decided that I should get other's accounts before rushing into the room with nothing to go on. Patience was a virtue that Mycroft had often told me I should gain and gain quickly. Every time he said this, I restrained myself from pointing out the irony in his statement. I had spent the last several days questioning people about it. Some of my teachers, making sure to sound innocent and curious in my request for information, to the kitchen women, and even to the maids, like this one here.

"'ey say it's because the 'ead professor's son died in 'ere some years back," said the aging maid.

"Surely that's not the real reason behind it. The professors wouldn't be so superstitious, would they?" Certainly not…

"'Course not, deary," she answered with a smile and patted my head. I suppressed a groan of irritation. True, I was in a very awkward stage of life where one could not be quite sure if I were a tall little boy or a short elder boy, but why on earth did middle aged women have to pat heads and pinch cheeks when they thought you were the former? "I've been 'ere longer than the 'ead professor an' 'is son went on 'ome for other reasons. 'e didn' die 'ere at this school. I think 'e's 'live an' well, as it were. Ye know, 'is younger brother still goes here."

"His name, ma'am, what might it have been?" I asked, interest peaking.

"Adams, luv. Josiah Adams. 'is elder brother was Joseph, I believe. Oh yes, yer the 'Olmes boy, aren't ye? Well 'e was 'ere the same time as your brother."

"Might I trouble you for the reason he left, ma'am?"

"Inquisitive lad, aren't ya? Much like yer brother, though much more energy, I see. Mycroft was such a nice boy… brilliant as 'ey came and so sweet, but 'e was a tad on the lazy side…"

"Ma'am."

"Oh yes! Sorry, luv." She hushed her tone considerably. "Joseph Adams left, so the rumour goes amongst the maid, though tha' don't say much, now does it? A bunch of old bats -" one must wonder if she remembered she was included in this grouping as she spoke - "huddled about gossipin' all the days long… Well 'e was asked to leave because 'e was caught cheatin'. It was never official, mind you. No no, not Professor Adam's lad, it wouldn' be official, would it? Now, this is just between you 'n' me, young Mr. 'Olmes, but I know awful well tha' there's somethin' funny in tha' room ye've been lookin' at. Only person though ye could get tha' story from would be young Josiah. 'e's the only one with a key, you see."

"The only one?" I echoed.

"Tha's wha' I said, luv."

"Thank you, ma'am, very much!"

"Ah? Did I answer some great riddle of yers, young Mr. 'Olmes?" she asked with a laugh.

"Yes, ma'am, I do believe you did," I answered as I rushed out of the room and down the hallway, looking for Sam Wallace the whole way. "My good lad, what are you doing?" I demanded when I saw him stooped over my bed and my trunk.

"Cleanin' it up," he answered in a sullen tone. "Someone's been into it something horrible. Your things were spread all over the area and your violin…"

My eyes grew wide as I looked at my beautiful instrument, broken into two. I clenched my teeth, forcing the anger down so that it did not show on my features. No, I would not allow my emotions to rule my mind. "Adams."

"I'd say so, Holmes," Wallace answered. "Best to stop while you're behind."

"No no!" I said quickly. "Not behind, Wallace my good lad, ahead!"

"Ahead?" he asked, his chubby face contorting as he looked at me, struggling to understand what I meant. "Oh for heaven sakes, Holmes! Adams knows you've been poking about, and that's why he did this! You should stop!"

"Even when I've found something?" I asked quietly, leaning down towards his ear.

He looked up at me, dark eyes wide. "Well what did you find?" he asked, his voice high in delight.

"This is a true game," I mused aloud. "More than Mycroft and I ever played at home… Much more of a game, Wallace! Isn't it exciting?"

"You think of this like a game?!" Wallace demanded. "Good heavens… We'll be expelled at this rate…"

"Do you know who Joseph Adams is, Wallace?"

The pudgy lad went white. "Yes… everyone knows of him. He's the one… That… Oh that room is locked because of him, Holmes!"

"You wanted the mystery solved, and solved it shall be. Joseph Adams was not murdered, but expelled. The old maid that cleans the sitting room - you know her right? - she was telling me of Joseph Adams and I remembered Mycroft did mention him, I was certain of it. I overheard him speaking of him to Mother when I was quite young."

"But you said that your brother did not speak of people here."

"Oh heavens! Surely that was a stretch of the truth!"

"Call a lie a lie when it is, Sherlock," Sam Wallace said, tone flat.

"Then a lie, if it must be, but for good reason. I didn't trust Adams from the moment I heard him. I have instinct for that sort of thing."

"You do?"

"Ah well, with reasons behind it, certainly not all instinct."

"Back to the case, at any rate."

"Yes, at any rate. Joseph was expelled for cheating. If memory serves, he used a room over the offices to cheat from. Do you know what should be right below that room?"

"Ah yes! The offices!" Wallace announced, sounding quite proud.

"Yes, yes they are, my friend. Very good. Would you care to tell me why the room is locked and the noises come from the room to keep people away, Wallace?"

"But I don't know."

I chuckled at him. "Come. We must go to the room and get inside of it now."

"But the dinner bell is about to ring!"

"Precisely. The hallways will be empty."

"And we will be in trouble…"

I grinned and we started down the hallway, the echoing sound of footsteps of the student body heading towards the dinner room. Everyone but us, so we thought.

----------------

"Holmes, they're going to hear you."

"I heard you the last ten times you said that, Wallace, now please stop. I've almost-" CLICK - "There! Got it!" I pushed the door open and stuck my head in. It was a long room, perhaps a closet at one time, or a room used for those students whom the faculty did not think highly of. Long and thin as it was, it did have loose boards at the far in. "Ha! Just what we were looking for!"

"Holmes!"

I glanced back at Wallace who stood terror stricken. "Oh dear…" I mumbled, making eye contact with one of the professors that had stepped inside the room, Josiah Adams next to him.

"You see, sir? I told you that the Holmes boy was using this room to cheat."

"I see you're right. Come along with me, Mr. Holmes. Mr. Wallace, you too."

I stepped out, glancing at Wallace. "This isn't over, don't worry," I mumbled to him.

Adams was smiling at me as I passed him. "Sorry, Holmes," he said, his voice the same as it was the first day I had arrived. "I'm not going to let a Holmes brother outdo me like my brother did."

It was everything I could do not to smile back at him.

--------------

marylinusca: Thank you so much for reviewing! I was actually thinking about taking this down, b/c I'm not crazy about it... But since you liked it I suppose I should carry on with it.Thanks for the information about the book. I think I saw it the other day at my library, and I'll probably go back tomorrow to see. At least I know now why I couldn't find it at a good old Barns and Noble. lol. Ah well, thanks very much, and I hope you enjoyed this installment as much as the last. One more to come for this case, and I think I'll wrap it up in it.

TS 


	3. III

III 

"We had high hopes for you, Mr. Holmes," the man was saying. He had not introduced himself to me and I did not have him for a class. I glanced about the room casually. "Young sir! This is quite serious!"

"Yes, sir, it is," I agreed. "Though, Professor Andrews, I do believe you have the wrong lad."

"Your condescending tone is not appreciated here, young man, and neither are the fancy tricks that your brother taught you."

I bristled at this. I had, it seemed, since setting foot into this school, been compared to Mycroft. He was my elder brother by seven years and I will always admit that he is my superior in intellect, but as a thirteen year old lad, I was irritated, to put it kindly, that Sherlock Holmes was only the boy that was to become Mycroft Holmes. "He didn't teach me them all, and it's not trick."

"I don't care what it is!" Andrews snapped. "I want to know why you have been cheating."

I stood from my seat so that he might not loom over me quite as much. "Sir, have you taken a glance at those answers and when, perhaps, the tests were? I'm sure you'd find them dating farther back than I had entered this school."

He had not, I observed by the reddening of his face, taken the care to look at the papers. "Young sir-"

"Of course, no disrespect meant, sir."

He bristled again, his face only becoming redder, as he pulled the papers from the drawer and jerked them out, glancing over them and pulling a book from another drawer. "Then who… And why were you in there? Why was Wallace in there?"

I smiled. "My first day here, Sam Wallace approached me and, upon hearing that I was Mycroft's younger brother, asked for my help in searching out the answer to a small school mystery: that of the haunted room." I proceeded to tell him how we had gone to the room, about the crowd that had gathered, and my first meeting with Josiah Adams later that evening. I assured him that my memory of Mycroft's old tales were quite solid, even if I had been young when he told them. I mentioned the old maid and some other students I had consulted.

"And I should believe Wallace wasn't in on the cheating why?" the angry professor asked.

"If you would take a look at Mr. Wallace's scoring records, I might deduce from his personality that while they are not horrid, they are far from what he might get from cheating. Josiah Adams is your lad, sir, if you wish to check in on him and prove me correct. He learned of the room from his elder brother, Joseph, who was expelled for using the very same room for cheating."

"Why wouldn't the teachers have known that the room could be used for that?"

"Simple. Professor Adams did not want his son to leave with a mark of expulsion lingering after him in the other student's or the teachers' minds. Therefore he concocted an outrageous story for the students to believe about a ghost haunting that room. That would keep the people out of it.

"If you were to look back in your books where you record the grades of the students, I might wager that Mr. Josiah Adams' grades were falling off for a bit, and then picked up tremendously. I'm sure you won't see cheat-notes from before that time period."

Andrews looked at me, eyeing me carefully. "Stay here. If Sam Wallace's story matches yours, I might be more wont to believe this outrageous accusation."

He returned some time later, shaking his head. "You were right, young man. I'm not entirely sure how, but you patched that together nicely. How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

Andrews chuckled. "Do you know what you might do with this talent of yours, son?"

I stared at him a moment. "Do with it, sir?"

"Do with it, lad! Use it for something. Surely, you will."

"For what?" I asked, genuinely confused. What on earth could I use it for? Surely there were others that could do the same.

"Lad, your gift is rare. I thought I had seen it all when your brother came through here, but apparently not. You'll outdo him someday, boy, unless he gains some sort of energy, which I doubt. What about a detective, Mr. Holmes? That might be a worthy goal for one such as you."

I frowned. "For Scotland Yard?" "What? Doesn't that sound nice?"

"Heavens no," I groaned. If there was one thing I had seen in Scotland Yard in reading the papers and such, it was that they rarely did as they should. The last thing I wanted was to be shoved aside and my ideas drowned in their old-fashion ways. "But perhaps, I could be a detective on my own…"

He chuckled at me. "Perhaps. Now get to your room. Mr. Wallace is quite flustered over this whole matter."

"Is he? Poor chap…" That said, I took my leave and down the hallway. I saw Adams as I was walking - I must admit, my chin held just a bit higher than usual - and he glared something awful at me. I smiled back.

------

"Holmes! Telegraph for you!" Wallace hollered.

I peered up from my studies. "Is there?"

"Yes." He handed me the piece of paper and I glanced at it.

Sherlock-

Congratulations on your first case.

- Mycroft

"What is it, Holmes?" Wallace asked, peeking over my shoulder.

I sighed and put the telegraph down. I hadn't told him. "He's always one step ahead…" I groaned and fell back against my pillow.

* * *

A/N: That's it for this case. It was interesting, I must admit. I've got one more thing for a young Holmes fic, but we'll see if I end up getting around to it...

BlackMoon13: Ah lovely! Another Mary Russell fan!I'm pleased to see that! No, I haven't found any other sites, but it could be b/c I'm lazy and don't look to often. The Hive is the only one I've found, but it is a nice one. I do have one H/R fic up as it is, and am thinking about doing another, perhaps a longer peice than my one shot that I have posted. We shall see what time and imagination permits. ::goes back to watching her Holmes movies and reading "The Moor"::


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